♦ It’s not often I have sex to the gentle sounds of cartoon bears growling, but I suppose that’s what I should expect if I come over all insistent while Crush is playing Triple Town.
After being effectively locked up in my house for most of my suddenly three-day weekend, my snow shut-in was seeming a very lazy and cosy affair, but arousal was bubbling in my mind. I all at once decided that I could do with some sex and, hey, why not just go and get it? I love growing intimacy and flirtation leading to a desperate need to rip each other’s clothes off, sure, but there’s also something severely awesome about just deciding you’re in the mood for some sex and then undertaking to have some.
I padded into Crush’s room and attempted to gently pull him onto the bed from his computer. It didn’t quite work. He motioned for me to try again, always keen for a bit of daftness, but I settled for wriggling backwards onto our bed and pretending to use the Force instead. Because obviously.
I found myself backed into the corner of the bed near the pillows, bundled up where the walls met at ninety degrees. In a way it was not an astoundingly erotic image, the two of us in comfort clothes against the cold that persists in this house, he in sweats and I in pyjamas and woolly bits, but as soon as he smoothed his palm over my soft and braless breasts, some sordid energy ran through me from tip to toe. I so wanted this, now in body as well as mind.
His fingers massaged my nipples through my dinosaur top as mine padded and clawed at his back. I rolled my hips against and soon he was skilfully employing both banter and deft fingerwork in a push to get my top up and off. I lifted my layers and his mouth moved magnetically towards my now-bare nipples, tongue flicking out like a lizard.
And there I was, head squished up against a hastily-moved pillow, the only thing protecting my poor skull from the discomfort of the walls by our bed, folded up, squished in, no room to pull back from Crush’s ministrations, no way to escape. It should have been uncomfortable, but I loved being ‘trapped’, being surrounded, being my own little humble bundle. I love restraint, it’s no surprise to hear. But that’s not always a sexual thing and even when it is, it’s not all rope and cuffs and shackles. I like the heavy weight of a winter duvet providing pressure. I like to press my feet against a wall and draw my knees up tight into a ball when I touch myself. I’m not best built for it, but I think I like to be made compact.
So I really loved being crumpled up in a corner with Crush painting ecstasy on my skin.
I loved it even more when we were both naked, his cock rubbing smoothly over my wettened folds, our bodies close and our eyes fixed on each other. With a little wiggling he slipped inside me and began to slowly pump in and out, fucking me as his body formed a barrier that only added to the wonderful bundled-up, boxed-in feeling.
And oh, the angle. Something about the position of our bodies or the incline of thrust meant that the bulk of his erection was rubbing and pushing with each movement against the front wall of my vagina, kneading my G-spot. Each thrust was like a shove in the back towards a precipice, each pull back like the tide rushing back over buffeted and polished pebbles. I ground my hips in rhythm and I was soon gasping through one of the fastest and most satisfyingly overwhelming orgasms of my life.
By my second climax, he too was coming and I relished squeezing my muscles to milk him of every last drop of pleasure. As he left to return to his quickly-cooling lunch and his adorably strategic bears, I pulled our duvet and fuzzy blanket up over me, content to stay dripping but cosy in my lovely little bundle for just a while longer… ♦